At World's Beginning
by Shuiro Ecstacy
Summary: -- "Sometimes things come back, mate." -- "Aye, but that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it? There's never a guarantee of coming back, but passing on, that's dead certain." -- WARNING: Contains several At World's End spoilers.
1. AWB: Chapter 1

Incredible how POTC can click my brain on like a lightswitch. I can try to write for anything else, but I don't think anything will work nearly as well as POTC does.

I'm dead set on bringing people back from the dead. I'm tired of all my favorite characters going away and never coming back. It's sad, really.

Hooray for fanfictions.

Now, I spent well over an hour and a half on this (yes, I kept track). I watched this scene from the movie and everything. I have an obsession with getting the dialogue and moments exactly right when I record them. Enjoy!

* * *

It was either the blazing hot, scratchy sand that stuck to his face, or the twenty or so jabs and pokes here and there of crabs scattering across his body that woke him. Either or, he was _alive_.

It was hard to see at first, and this alarmed him, but his flicker of panic disappeared when he realized this irritating sand was beneath his eyelids as well. It was the least of the pain he felt, really. He lifted his head up an inch or so away from the ground, and just after doing so felt the abrasive texture of another crab brush against his cheek below his head.

Using whatever strength he could gather, he brought his hand to his face and gasped in horror at what he felt. His skin… it was covered in calloused ripples. He let his hand drop in front of his face, and he saw the skin on his hand looked just as bad as the skin on his face felt.

He was covered in burns. _Covered_. Was he really alive? Something so incredibly tragic that caused this physical damage couldn't have left him alive.

…Could it?

Pushing the ground with his aching muscles, Cutler Beckett attempted to lift himself from the heated earth below him. He managed to sit up – which surprised him self, given that it had taken all of his strength just to lift his head – and looked around at nothing. There wasn't anything around.

His eyes squinted as his eyes searched for life. Objects. He searched for _anything_ but what he saw. Blankness. Emptiness. It was frightening, and he felt dangerously lonely.

_Of all things to exist, why must it be the bloody sun?_ Beckett thought bitterly. He turned his head slightly, blinking repeatedly now that his only recently opened eyes were adjusted to the intense light that reflected off of everything that surrounded him.

There were hills, he noticed. They were hills of sand, of course, but it was more than the plain of _very_ dry land before him. He wanted to go over those hills; he felt something about them… he wanted to explore whatever excitement might be around, opposing the blandness that made him want to scream (not like his lungs would have allowed him to anyway).

After taking a moment to recover the energy he had already spent, Beckett pushed against the burning sand once more, bringing himself to his feet. He stood as proudly as ever, though finding no need to show dominance; there was no one to view it. He found that it was more comfortable to slouch… his shoulder muscles thanked him gratefully for relaxing.

He felt the sand even on his feet, and realized parts of his clothing were shredded, the remains hanging loosely from what had managed to stay on his body. His boots were missing, and his socks were tattered. In fact, all that was left of his left sock was the wrapped cloth around his ankle.

Beckett had to lean forward and use his hands as he began to go up the hill; it was steeper than it appeared. He nearly fell forward when he reached for the sand that wasn't there. He looked up to see that he'd finally reached the top of this mysterious hill, and to his smug pleasure, he saw water; much of it. Something in the back of his mind reminded him of the _ocean_. He sighed, almost in relief, and closed his eyes. He lowered his head. He was already exhausted, and he took a moment before gazing up with only his eyes again.

It was so tempting… but he knew it wasn't possible. He needed to start thinking… _clearly_, anyway. But it would be difficult to do so in such suffocating temperatures. Desperate for shade – or whatever there was in this haunted _nowhere_ – Beckett searched for anything that could assist him. The only thing he noticed was another hill; it was steeper, and it looked larger. If his sight was true, a shadow cast what appeared to be East of the hill, and he saw that the sun had gone lower since he'd first opened his eyes. He was taken slightly aback; had it taken him _that_ long to move here? Did he truly lack so much strength?

Ignoring the somewhat disturbing grasp, Beckett made his way towards the hill on his hands and knees. It took him longer than it had just to make it to the top of the first hill, but he got there, and he collapsed in exhaustion once he did. He rested his head on his arm and breathed slow, controlled breaths.

He was beginning to become frustrated with himself; he had never felt so weak in his life, and it wasn't just the weakness that was getting to him. He was irritated that he couldn't think straight. He couldn't remember what he wanted, and overall, he didn't even know where the hell he was or how he'd gotten there.

Then, as if the mere thought had clicked the memory on, flashbacks flickered through his mind, and Beckett began to panic again. It was frightening how chaotic they were… how dangerous… how _real_…

"Orders sir!" He heard Groves' voice. It was filled with panic and fear, and he briefly recalled the image of two magnificent ships making their way towards his own.

"Sir!" He saw his companion's face now, and the expression held nothing but terror.

Beckett groaned, holding his head in his hands. It was becoming clearer, and now he wanted it to stop. He no longer wanted to be sure of what he knew was true. If he had to lie to himself, then _damn it_ he would. But he bloody hell would not believe that he was…

"Fire!" He knew that yell… it was the command of a pirate. He knew it so well that the mere memory of this voice made him shiver in fear.

"Fire!" Came a young voice, filled with energy and power. It was unmistakably another pirate.

"Fire!" Yet another pirate, this one was incredibly demanding. It was intense and fearless, and Beckett gritted his teeth. He had had _enough_…

"Fire!" Came the last voice. It surprised Beckett to hear a woman's voice, but it mattered not. The four versions of this dreaded word was terrible enough, but to hear it come from three pirates and a woman? Beckett would not have it.

But he saw that he did nothing. It was terrifying… cannon shots blasted through the air, destroying his ship bit by bit. Wood and metal flew around him, and yet he was frozen.

"Orders!" Groves' petrified yell came again. "Orders sir!"

Beckett wanted to give orders, but he was unmoving with fear. He could not speak, he could only watch as everything he had worked for fell to pieces – or blasted to pieces, more like.

"Sir, what do you command!?" A new voice, yet filled with just as much fear, pierced Beckett's ears louder than the blasts of the cannons. He felt his lips move, and words were finally able to emit from his mouth.

"It's just… good business," he quoted himself. He felt the painful sting of bitter irony take over his mind.

"Abandon ship!" Groves commanded.

_No!_ Beckett screamed in his head. _No! Do not leave me! Do not leave this ship!_

But they were gone. All sounds were fading away. All he could do now was watch. Watch and feel while making his way towards the still-whole stairs. It was as if they were waiting for him to walk down them before they could be destroyed.

_A captain must go down with his ship_, Beckett thought as he watched the disastrous scene in his mind. He felt a tear sliding down his cheek; it was as true as he didn't want it to be.

The banister was smooth and untouched, and Beckett kept his hand on it, walking slowly down the steps. Splints of destroyed wood flew around him. He felt untouchable as long as he touched that rail, but as he walked past the last step, he knew it was gone, and he stood as tall and proud as he could while he felt heat overwhelm him.

He felt air now. He was soaring through it, and he felt as though he were safe for a brief, unbelievable moment.

And then he felt water. Well, no, he felt pain first. Beckett realized it was probably the impact of hitting the water. He felt it surround him, but he could do nothing. He couldn't bring himself to, and he didn't know whether it was from shock or the recognition of failure.

Becket clenched his fist, tightening his grip around the sand he'd grasped with it. He lifted his hand for a moment, then brought it down with everything he had. He cried out angrily, screaming at the top of his lungs. His throat burned; this was not what his body needed, but he didn't care. He didn't care about his bloody body right now. He didn't care about his ship. He didn't care about his crew.

What could he care about? He had nothing.

He was dead. He was _gone_… gone from the world he had known for years. He cursed the damned spot he had chosen to _think_ in. He wished he never had. He would rather feel the pain of years of this demonic sun that beat down on his already burned skin than the pain of the memories that were eating at his sanity.

He finally allowed himself to breathe. He coughed harshly, only causing his throat more pain, but he dismissed it once again. His face half buried in the crook of his elbow, he gritted his teeth again as tear after tear found its way down the wavy skin of intensely burned skin. Crying was something Beckett had hardly ever done, even as a child. To cry was to be weak, but it was nothing more than what he already felt, so why not?

He was dead. He was _gone_… gone from everyone he had come to know. None of which he had become very fond of, mind you, but each had looked at him as someone powerful, whether or not they admired him or hated him for that very reason.

Beckett started to feel less and less. His eyelids lowered softly, and he allowed himself to sleep. He liked sleep as much as he liked tears, but again, to sleep was to be vulnerable.

Who was around to care?

* * *

I tried to make this a powerful chapter.

Let me know just how powerful it was. The next chapter will be up soon enough. :)


	2. AWB: Chapter 2

A/N: Here we are... the lovely heroine of the story. I suppose there's a bit of suspense in this chapter. I know, it might not be too thrilling. They're only introduction chapters; I'll get to the excitement in later ones. Perhaps I'll start with the next one, yes? Enjoy!

* * *

"Ah, thank you Maria. It's beautiful." Elizabeth smiled at her maid, nodding slightly at her. "That'll do."

Maria, only but a seventeen-year-old girl, smiled sweetly at her Madam, curtsied, and left the room. Elizabeth admired the lovely flower piece that had finally been completed in her dining room. She fingered the soft petals, smiling to herself and sighing tiredly.

It was amazing how much this place felt like her real home. It was nice, and she had come to be used to it in the past nine years – the high number out of the given ten sent chills down her spine at the thought. Still, she missed Port Royal and all its memories.

She frowned, being reminded of her family, her first fiancé, and most painfully, her childhood friend, rescuer (who gave faithful service for years), and husband.

But she had life. Granted, most of her life – that of which she was so familiar with – was gone, but it was _life_. She held great responsibility as King of the Brethren Court (it had it's advantages; she wasn't complaining about her grand, new home). She remained as a captain still, obviously. Jinhai, her second-in-command, usually took care of business for her. But when answering her pirate duties was inevitable, she was sure to bring Will along with her. He was a pirate by blood, and he should be raised as such (though Elizabeth made sure it was civilized… as civilized as pirate life could be).

Elizabeth cherished her son more than her own life, and wondered if this kind of love was as powerful as the love she had been given that night nearly a decade ago when James had sacrificed himself to ensure her safety. It made her all the more grateful for his surrender, and it made her miss him even more. She wished she could take back everything she had accused him of, everything she had told him that night. She wished she had accepted his request and taken his quarters; maybe he would still be here.

She lowered her hand from the blossom she'd been holding in her fingers, walking past the small table. She moved slowly, grazing her fingertips along the dark, polished wood. Her head jerked up when none other than her little boy threw the front doors open. By instinct, she ignored the fact she was wearing one of her more elegant dresses and kneeled down before her son as he ran to her. Instead of throwing himself in her arms like he usually did – the boy was as daring and bold as his father, and on frequent occasion would come home with bruised arms and scratched knees – Will excitedly jumped around in front of his mother.

"Mother, come look! Someone was found near the main dock this morning! They're saying he's dying!"

Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. She straightened herself, picking up the skirt of her dress and rushing out the doors that remained open.

* * *

She regretted making the mistake of wearing a dress today, for the main dock was well near a mile away from her home. But nothing more washed up on the edge of Mattingham than an old fishing net or remains of an abandoned rowboat.

William was behind her, but she sprinted as quickly as she could. Luckily, days of playing outside had built the young child's stamina, and he kept up with her surprisingly well. Either that or he was just as anxious to see what was happening as she was.

Finally reaching her destination, Elizabeth slowed a bit to catch her breath. She saw a fairly large group of people gathered around the end of the dock, watching several officers doing something before them.

Elizabeth regained her posture and began making her way through the crowd. Over the past near decade, those of Mattingham had come to respect Elizabeth, though Elizabeth could not help but feel sometimes that it was out of fear. She was, after all, an acquaintance of over two hundred of the most fearsome pirates that could be found around the Caribbean. So it was not new to her when the townspeople made way to clear a path for Elizabeth.

After making it past the crowd, Elizabeth sighed in frustration when she saw she would have to do the same with the guards. Instead of shoving past, though, she kept her together appearance and merely stood behind the smaller crowd. She turned her head slightly to look at William, and she nodded with a knowing smile. He grinned up at her and ran forward towards the uniformed men. He snatched a handful of one of their jackets and tugged as hard as a nine-year-old boy could. The man turned, quite irritated, but his mood changed quickly and forcedly when he realized who exactly what trying to get his attention.

"Mrs. Turner, my apologies," he muttered awkwardly. Turning to the side, he invited her to come forth. Elizabeth did so, but before reaching them completely, she placed a hand on her son's head, ruffling his hair gently. In other words: "_Well done, once again._"

Elizabeth passed the men that surrounded the town's uninvited guest, and once she made it there, she angled herself so she could see his face. She nearly fainted when she did.

Cutler Beckett was lying unconscious on the shore of the very town she lived in. Elizabeth suddenly found it hard to breathe, and it had nothing to do with the damned corset she wore – though she had made positively sure it was not as tight as the last one she wore was. Placing a hand over her chest, she let out short, forced breaths. The guard nearest to her stepped to her side.

"Madam, are you ill?" She saw him motion to two guards who directly stepped forward. He turned to them. "Escort Mrs. Turner to her home immediately."

The men went to do just that, and she raised a hand to stop them.

"I'll be fine, gentlemen." She looked up and saw that they weren't convinced. She offered a reassuring smile. "Really."

The first guard hesitated, then nodded slightly to the two others, who backed away quickly. Elizabeth lowered her gaze to the face of the man she had come to loathe so much all those years ago. He was strangely different now, and Elizabeth wasn't sure whether this frightened her or relaxed her.

The guard, as if waiting for orders, patiently watched Elizabeth. Finally, she took in one short breath, as if deciding something. The guard looked as if he was going to say something, but Elizabeth got to it first.

"He'll stay with me until he regains consciousness." She eyed the guard. "I'll trust you can provide assistance in getting him to my home, along with an attendant specifically for him."

The guard stared at her nervously for a moment, then nodded briefly, signaling to his fellow guards to help with the unconscious man. Elizabeth watched them cautiously, going over the consequences of what she had just done.

* * *

She had insisted that Beckett's room be the room closest to hers; it was farthest from Will's, for one, and if he were to wake up she wanted to be able to keep an eye on him. Both eyes, actually. It had been four days since Beckett had washed up out of no where, and Elizabeth was growing impatient.

She watched him now; her attendant had gone home for the evening, but she remained in the room, studying him. She wondered curiously where he had been for the past nine years, and how exactly he had made his way to Mattingham. The sight of his burns and scars made her shiver. She would have felt sorry for him, but living so many years after handing her own self to piracy and its ways, she'd lost most of her sympathetic feeling towards those whom she knew did not deserve it from her. She distinctly remembered trying to save Jack's life, knowing he was a pirate and disregarding her father and James' wish to kill him.

The more she stared at what seemed to be a forever-sleeping face, the more complacent she felt towards him; the tables seemed to have turned in her favor. She wondered exactly how much strength the man held still, and wondered if he would be in his right mind to put that strength to use once he woke up.

Elizabeth waited several minutes, eventually deciding her bed was becoming very inviting. She walked down the bedroom hall and found that Will was already asleep. She leaned against the doorway, one hand flat on the wall, and watched her beautiful son sleep ever so peacefully.

She'd always dreamed of having a little girl; dressing her up as a child, talking to her mother-to-daughter in her youthful adult days, and crying at her wedding. But she found that Will brought her so much joy that it didn't matter the gender. He was a reminder of what she had left. He reminded her that there was hope, and she was forever grateful for that.

Elizabeth made her way into the dark room and stopped at the side of the bed. She would pray at her son's bed tonight; she felt that his dreams and her hope would give them all the power they needed to go on in their confusing and enthralling lives.

"Y-you…"

Elizabeth's eyes shot open from her light prayer. She knew that voice, and what frightened her was that she never thought she would hear it again. She knew that was ridiculous; in due course, he would have finally awakened.


	3. AWB: Chapter 3

_A/N_: And on we continue with the suspenseful pair. A little awkward, but meaningful. I'll have the next chapter up soon.

* * *

Elizabeth refused to look up; it only meant he would see her fear. She stood slowly, watching her sleeping child. His gaze was on her, she knew, and for a brief moment she felt like fleeing. Bitter memories haunted her mind, and she tightly shut her eyes for a second or two, shoving them out of her head.

She could see him to her left – once her eyelids lifted – leaning against the doorway. He was using both hands to hold himself up with the wall. The simple light coming from outside Will's window made Beckett's eyes gleam, which was what was catching Elizabeth's attention the most. Even without looking at him, she could feel the hatred and frustration coming from them.

Finally gathering her courage and pride, she straightened her body and turned her head. He watched her closely, trying to fathom his surroundings – including Elizabeth.

If he was really dead, then what did this mean for Elizabeth Swann and the boy in front of him? Where exactly was he? Where did the beach he'd awakened on go? If this was the second time he'd woken up, how many times had he woken up before? Or was he even awake? Was he _dreaming_?

Elizabeth took a sharp breath, fighting the urge to rush forward as Beckett slid down the wall, still gripping it as tightly (if not, tighter) as before. He grimaced, gritting his teeth and gasping slightly.

Elizabeth's heart pained slightly at the man before her. Yes, he'd once been an incredibly evil man and had caused her much pain and fury, but this couldn't be any easier for him. He was probably confused, and she wondered whether or not she should help him.

After several seconds of him kneeling, catching his breath in his tattered clothing, and her watching him, standing completely straight and unmoving, she finally sighed, unclenching her fists and lightening her stare.

"You should not strain yourself, Lo –" She stopped herself immediately. He caught it as well, and lifted his head to look at her, surprise in his eyes. She was impressed and slightly taken aback that he remembered his false preceding title.

Neither of them spoke or moved, for fear of what the other might do. Elizabeth blinked, pulling her shoulders back. She was in the higher position now; he had no control over her. She tried again.

"Mr. Beckett," she began a bit uncomfortably, "do you know where you are?"

Beckett stared at her mutedly, breathing heavily and – it appeared – with difficulty. Elizabeth waited rather patiently; he stayed where he was for what seemed like many minutes. Finally, he let out a long breath, then shook his head. He looked at the ground, and Elizabeth wondered if he was still trying to catch his breath or if he was ashamed because he realized his lack of authority.

"You are in my home, Mr. Beckett," Elizabeth said softly. "You were found among the shores of the town called Mattingham." A pause. "Do you know how long it has been since we last… encountered?"

He shook his head again. Elizabeth's brows furrowed when his right arm dropped from the doorway and straightened, his hand flatly pressed against the floor. Elizabeth bit her lip; he was clearly in severe pain, and he needed to rest. She wondered how he had gotten out of his bed, much less down the long hallway.

"It has been nearly a decade, Mr. Beckett. Nine years and something over seven months." Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, waiting for a response. When he heard nothing more come from her mouth, he lifted his head again, looking back at her. Elizabeth nearly broke at the sight of his eyes; they were filled with pain and confusion, and she asked herself if it was the right time to be telling him all this. Would he honestly remember it?

Before Elizabeth could speak again, Beckett lifted a foot, going into a kneeling position. He lifted his arm again, gripping the wall next to him. Elizabeth's lips parted when she realized he was trying to get up. She took a careful step forward, but she did not know whether it was because she wanted to secure him or protect William. Or herself.

He continued to push himself, and Elizabeth did not move. When he faltered, however, Elizabeth saw his eyes widen slightly, and she forgot everything nine and a half years ago, everything within the last ten minutes, and sprinted forward, catching Beckett before he could hit the ground.

This scared the ever-living hell out of both of them. Because neither of them wanted to move, they both found themselves in the same position for quite a while; Elizabeth held Beckett's shoulders with her hands firmly, and Beckett wrapped one of his hands around Elizabeth's arm, the other on her opposite shoulder. During this time, they watched each other. They observed each other, staring into the other's eyes.

Finally, Elizabeth brought her focus back to what was happening. She shook her head, facing the floor as she lightly cleared her throat, breaking the silence.

"You need your rest, Mr. Beckett." She looked up at him again. "Will you allow me to accompany you back to your room? You've not the strength to do it alone."

_This_ Beckett could answer. He was tired, and he knew he needed help; he wouldn't be able to make it five feet without collapsing. He nodded once, and she didn't hesitate to pull him to his feet.

* * *

It was startling how quickly Beckett had fallen asleep – almost faster than Elizabeth's nine-year-old son did. She couldn't blame the man, though. Even if he had only been awake for a few minutes, he still didn't have the strength to keep it that way. Elizabeth guessed it would be another day or so before his eyes would open again.

She lay in her bed now, staring at the meaningless words on the seventy-fifth page of the book she held in her hands. She wondered… why now? After so many years, why was Beckett showing up here all of a sudden? What did that mean for everyone else who had died? Was it just him, or everyone she was associated with? Had that been the significance of the unmistakable green flash she'd seen when Will had first gone away on _The Dutchman_? Pintel and Gibbs had only said the flash signaled when a soul comes back from the dead. No one had ever said anything about dying, so it couldn't have been Will, right? Besides, he was already dead.

Elizabeth glared at her book, shaking her head. None of it made any sense, and staying up all night wasn't going to clear her head. She snapped her book shut – a little too roughly – and dropped it lazily on the floor beside her bed. She leaned over on her elbow and gently blew out the vivid flame on the candle, darkening the room.

Even with no light and no pages, Elizabeth couldn't sleep, and what's worse she couldn't get the situation at hand off her mind. She gripped the fabric of her pillowcase, sighing in exasperation. She began to mentally sing herself to sleep, repeating the lyrics of the song she loved to sing ever since she was a little girl. Finally drifting into a long-awaited slumber, she let her eyelids drop.

"A pirate's… life… for me…" she murmured softly, and she was awake no longer.


End file.
